


and you take my breath

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 22:31:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17858207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I’ve got something for you,” Brandon says, glove hovering strategically over his lips.(So, yeah, it’s fucked up.)





	and you take my breath

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this real quick last night before falling asleep so all typos are on me!
> 
> y’all i almost stan the habs because of one player and that terrifies me..damn

Brandon’s been nudged to the edge a hell of a lot of times.

He’s been roped into letting himself get way too drunk at bars, until everything swirls together into this dizzying haze. Until anything and everything he sees looks like something he could try to wheel, with a few sly comments and smooth words, to the point where he‘s even found himself whispering filth into some stranger’s ear right out in the open. 

All he remembers from that night is rushing to the bathroom with few drinks too many, and flushing any remembrance of his shitty decisions right down the toilet. There, he was close. The edge nothing but a pinprick against his thumb. But he didn’t give in.

There was this one other time, too, after a good game down in Pittsburgh, and it took Brandon fucking forever to hitch an uber from this rank bar the guys decided to hit. He isn’t sure what it was that was attractive about it, the drinks maybe, but it wasn’t a pretty sight. The poor thing torn up at all its edges. 

Brandon got into the uber and it was one of those fucking uber-pool ones, too, a guy he’s never seen before tucked away on the complete opposite end of the seats. He looked just as unhappy as Brandon outwardly felt, so he didn’t say a word, just slipped right in. 

There were glances. Low enough and long enough to ever be lacking any intent. But Brandon was too drunk, too tired, too goddamn achey from the game to make much of a move. Even if the Patriots hat he had on was definitely not a deal breaker, and the way he caught Brandon’s eyes with his own every now and then made Brandon’s stomach flip with something. Something like want, this magnetic pull that he could feel deep down in his gut. 

He never — he didn’t act on it. Because Brandon spins circles on the edges but never actually leaps off, just handles it and backs away. Like, what, he’s fucking scared or something. 

The guys chirp him about not picking up, and Brandon just takes it. Unbothered, uncaring, deciding it’s whatever if it isn’t hurting him. 

-

It’s always close. Always is. 

Always there but just out of reach, because Brandon’s not the type to step out of his lane. Not the type to try for things that he knows he shouldn’t want, things he doesn’t need, things that would be nothing but second thoughts drenched in regret weeks from now. 

It’s funny, though, the way it happens. When his feelings get way ahead of him before he can help it. Feelings towards other players, teammates, _guys_. Feelings that aren’t just urges to get his mouth on something, that don’t just hit him as this ache in his jaw. 

They’re stark. Heavy. Razor sharp and ready to cut. 

It’s not the first time its happened. Brandon’s let his eyes linger on Charlie, Matt, even Jake, but they were nothing more than stolen looks. And they were all teammates, teammates that weren’t rookies.

Jesperi, this kid on the Habs — this _kid_ — is who stands out to him. He’s the one with long legs and exuberant little grins and this look to him that makes Brandon’s head spin with a desire that tries sparking to life. Always trying, never succeeding. 

He’d say it isn’t immediately fucked up, because he’s got a chance to actually fall back on himself, but they play three games together, the season series, and Brandon’s watching, watching, watching him the whole time. 

So, yeah, it’s fucked up. Brandon taking this liking to the rookie on a team he’s supposed to be fuming with hatred for. Division rivals and an Original Six match up. There’s a whole list of reasons he should bite this down, stomp it away just like every other stray feeling thats leaked through on him. But he’s reckless. 

So, so reckless.

-

It doesn’t go away during the offseason. When Brandon’s supposed to be lounging around on a fold out chair with a fucking cocktail and _not_ thinking about the shit that stresses him out during the season. Especially if his train of thought always goes right back to Jesperi, this endless loop that makes him hot all over. Even when he’s not beneath the sun. When the sunshine that burns his skin is nowhere to be found and all he can think about is— _fuck_. 

He can’t keep doing this. He’s waiting for the feelings to fade, but they blaze, and he’s got no confidence anything’s going to simmer down by the time preseason rolls around.

-

Brandon can’t say he isn’t surprised. He’s completely schooled into this calm little facade when they get out onto the ice at home to play the Habs for the first time this year and everything he’s worked to at least tuck away comes sparking right back. 

Jesperi’s not a rookie anymore, and that’s the best he’s got. He’s a handful of days out of his rookie season, and that’s the _best_ excuse he can come up with. The best excuse he’s got to skate right by him during a TV break and hand him a smile that he at least hopes gets something across. 

The kid’s eyes are big and pretty, glued to Brandon like a hawk as he turns his head to keep his attention trained right in on him. Like he’s tracking the Bruins jersey rather than Brandon himself. 

It’s a moment before Brandon actually approaches him. When he leans in and, “I’ve got something for you,” he says, glove hovering strategically over his lips

Someone’s going to take a picture of this. Someone’s going to put it out there on social media and write trade rumours or signing coercion all over it. And Brandon’s not going to respond to any of it, too busy wound up in the way Jesperi’s face goes red.

His eyes are on the ice now. For two beats maybe, before he’s looking right back up at Brandon. 

“You — what?” 

“You should find me after the game,” Brandon says, right into his glove. He glances up, up at the Habs bench, his own bench, and adds, “only if you’re up for what I’m offering.”

And Jesperi swallows, nods his head slowly like he’s cataloguing helpful advice, and lets Brandon go. 

It’s flattering, actually, and that’ll get him everywhere.

-

It goes like this, when they meet out in a hallway Brandon knows well enough to move through without getting lost. 

Jesperi’s got a hood pulled over the baseball cap on his head, all low and shady over his eyes, and it makes Brandon smile. Because not only did he make it out before Brandon, but he’s discreet. Quiet. Knows just what he’s doing.

It makes Brandon feel a little like he’s not taking total advantage of the kid, and avoiding that whole guilt wrenching crisis is a fantastic feeling. 

Brandon tells him he’ll take him home. Treat him right. He’s got his car out in the player parking and Jesperi follows after him like a lost duckling. 

Before all of that, though, Brandon kisses him. He bites his lip, gets this soft little noise out of Jesperi that scorches right into his ear drum, and Brandon wants him to make that same sound again, and again, and again. 

They’re home free like that. And Brandon slips from his spot on the edge.

-

“Have you done this before?” Brandon asks, because he’s trying to seem at least a little human, leading Jesperi up to his condo stationed in a peaceful little neighbourhood. 

Jesperi glances at him, up at his face, but he’s watching Brandon’s hands. Watching him fish his keys out of his pocket and turn the lock. “Not with — not with other players.” 

“A teammate?” Brandon asks, just prodding to work him up a little, but then Jesperi nods and _shit_. Holy shit. 

“We’re just, uh, roommates,” he continues, and actually manages to make it sound convincing. “You wouldn’t know him, I don’t think.”

Brandon nods his head understandingly, and tugs Jesperi in past the door. “I don’t want you to worry about anything else right now, okay?” He lets the door click behind them, not shy about wrapping his fingers right around Jesperi’s waist. “Tonight’s about you.” 

-

They don’t make it far before Brandon’s on his knees in the hallway, halfway to his bedroom. Jesperi’s lips are already red and kiss swollen. His hat knocked off somewhere near the front door, and his hoodie’s helpfully discarded, too. 

It gives Brandon a ‘v’ to follow with his kisses as he’s unfastening Jesperi’s jeans, listening to those telltale pops of the buttons as he lowers them right over his hips. Then it’s the boxers, but he glances up at Jesperi right as he hooks his fingers into the waistband, eyes dragging over his face slow and steady. 

“I want you to tell me what you want,” Brandon says, pulling his hand away. “Exactly what you need.” 

“Brandon, I — c’mon,” he rushes out, already flushed with soft rose tints. 

“Unless you’re gonna back down from this,” Brandon says, sitting back on his haunches. 

“I’m not gonna kiss you and split,” Jesperi tells him, firm, and Brandon remembers exactly how it felt to be nineteen and bend all the rules just how _he_ wants them. “You’re gonna blow me? Because I want your mouth. I know you can take it.” 

Brandon raises his eyebrows up at him, hit by the confidence like a brick to the face. But then again, he’s fresh out of his rookie season, confidence is written all over him. In the way he stands, the way he holds himself, when his fingers slip into Brandon’s hair and when they clench in that way that makes Brandon lose all his focus. In the best fucking way.

“In a rush?” Brandon asks, smiling as he leans in to mouth at the front of his boxers.

“Nah,” Jesperi says, his lips curved up into this smug smile. “You?”

“Nope.” Brandon returns the smile, not nearly as gentle on the pride. 

“Wanna prove that?” 

-

Not once in his life has Brandon taken his sweet time with a blowjob, because getting guys off quick and dirty is a lot easier than level-headed easy strokes, or teasing him, or spending longer than he needs to sucking someone off.

But Jesperi isn’t just _someone_. He’s looking at Brandon with eyes full of challenge, and Brandon’s got the heavy weight of his dick on his tongue. He’s got the upper hand here, so he blows him nice and slow. Takes his sweet time drawing this out, pulling Jesperi from reality inch by inch, as slow as he can get it.

He’s gotta fit his forearm right over Jesperi’s hips. Because he squirms, rolls forward, and tries getting deeper everytime Brandon takes him down slow, slow, slow. But this was a battle Jesperi chose, and he waits until he’s getting these weak little pleads from him. These gasps hidden under grunts and scrabbling fingers, and Brandon loves making him writhe. 

He swallows, too, when Jesperi comes. It’s when he’s letting out these broken sounds, helplessly glued to the wall, and Brandon gives it up just to jerk him off the rest of the way, letting him paint his tongue before taking it all down.

And, “Fuck,” Jesperi breathes out, his legs shivering beneath his weight. Brandon feels this swell of pride in his chest. He decides it’s better if he doesn’t give it the attention it’s looking for.

Brandon peeks up. He’s half-hard between his legs and almost embarrassed to stand up because of it, so, “hey, you should share a shower with me,” he offers. 

Jesperi blinks at him, looking just about taken aback, but then he’s all the more focused on Brandon, eyes clearly settling on the bulge at the front of his pants. “Yeah, you want me to take care of something for you?”

“You could do that.” Brandon grins, and lets Jesperi kiss him when he’s back on his feet. 

-

Brandon decides to be a good person and let Jesperi jerk him off instead of getting him on his knees under the stream of water, just because he’d rather not have Jesperi nearly drowning in his shower.

It’s better this way too. The friction could be better, but Jesperi’s got him crowded up against the shower wall with the steam fogging up the glass. His hand works in swift little motions, fisting his dick with little curls until he’s got Brandon fucking into his palm. 

By the time Brandon comes, his lips are buzzing from the kissing, and the shower’s so hot he’s pretty sure he’ll freeze to death the second either of them turns it off.

So he gives it another minute, maybe two, grabbing at Jesperi’s ass and rocking forward into him. He kisses down his neck, over his jaw, and leaves a few bites on his chest he hopes at the very least blossom into faint marks. 

They don’t go further than that. 

-

Brandon orders out for the two of them, almost surprised that Jesperi agrees to stay long enough for the food to even show up, but they end up tangled together on the couch, kissing lazily as their pizza cools on the coffee table. 

Brandon slides a hand into Jesperi’s hair, and Jesperi’s got one under his shirt, fingers warm against Brandon’s skin. 

And, “we should eat,” Brandon finally says, when he pulls away.

Jesperi laughs a little. “How about we do this for just a little longer, and then microwave everything.” 

Brandon doesn’t even have to consider it for longer than a second, because he’s drawing right back in on Jesperi before he knows it. “Just a little longer.”


End file.
